his own youth in London would change her mind about wedlock itself.
But Grandfather had been forced to leave his homeland because of poverty, and so remembered those gentlemen with an aura of grace and graciousness that only envy could have gilded them with. For she didn’t find them so beguiling. But then, she thought, suppressing the thought even as it arose as it so often did in the depths of night, like some leviathan from the unplumbed bottoms of her mind, she wouldn’t, since love, marriage, and all it entailed was not for her, could not be for her, no matter if Grandfather had sent her to the heights of Olympus rather than to the countryside of England to seek a mate.
But she shouldn’t disappoint him. That was poor payment for one who’d cared enough to take her to live with him those years ago, rescuing her from out the noisy, rancorous, frightening battlefield that had been her parents’ keeping. No, she owed him far more than that. If she were a better girl, she often thought when in her deepest desponds, she’d marry just to suit him, no matter the sorrow to herself. She’d been tempted to do so many a time and would have done long since if it were not for the outsize terror that arose in her at the very thought.
At the least, she sighed, twisting her coverlets in her tossing until her bed looked as though it had been furrowed and plowed for a spring planting, she ought to have seen it out until a decent time had elapsed before returning home, as she’d agreed. She oughtn’t, she knew, just like her countryman had cautioned, have given up the ship. And she was too honest to elude the damning suspicion that it was possible she’d known all that, but had gone ahead and ended it all anyway at the first opportunity and on the merest pretext, in the quickest, most selfish, convenient way possible.
Faith was so disappointed in herself that when she finally heard the faint tapping on her door above her stifled sobs, and thought for one moment that it might be all the assembled company come, bearing torches, to escort her to the town limits, she didn’t blame them in the least.
She finally managed to sit up and whisper “Come in.” When the tapping went on, she slid down from her high bed and crept to the door and cracked it a slit open. Lady Mary stood before her, shifting from foot to foot, her worried face seeming to float in a blurred nimbus of candlelight.
“Oh do let me in, Faith dear,” she whispered, her breath causing the candle to dance and throw violent shadows across her lovely face and the wall behind her. “I dread being discovered out here in the hall, but I have to see you.”
“I don’t know why you should want to,” Faith said on a sniffle. But she drew the door wide and Lady Mary came hurrying in, looking very like one of the ancestral spirits Faith was most anxious not to meet, with her long white dressing gown floating after her, almost catching in the door she closed quickly behind her.
“Oh dear,” Lady Mary said, as she placed the candlestick on a dressing table. “Does that mean you won’t forgive me either?”
Faith had wandered back to her bed, and was in the process of climbing up to sit on the side of it when her hostess’s words stopped her in mid-motion.
“Forgive you?” she asked, turning her head and staring at the blond girl. “What in heaven’s name is there to forgive you for? I’m the one who’s thoroughly disgraced herself. I ought never to have spoken as I did, and I tell you right now, Mary, I’m ashamed. But you needn’t worry, I’ll be ready to leave for home on the first fair tide ... and Will doesn’t have to come with me either.”
“Oh no,” the other girl wailed in distress before she clapped her hand over her mouth and whispered, “Indeed Faith, that’s why I came here tonight. Father said he’d have a word with you in the mo rn ing, and Mama is so angry at Lord Greyville that he’s been allowed to stay on with us only
But Grandfather had been forced to leave his homeland because of poverty, and so remembered those gentlemen with an aura of grace and graciousness that only envy could have gilded them with. For she didn’t find them so beguiling. But then, she thought, suppressing the thought even as it arose as it so often did in the depths of night, like some leviathan from the unplumbed bottoms of her mind, she wouldn’t, since love, marriage, and all it entailed was not for her, could not be for her, no matter if Grandfather had sent her to the heights of Olympus rather than to the countryside of England to seek a mate.
But she shouldn’t disappoint him. That was poor payment for one who’d cared enough to take her to live with him those years ago, rescuing her from out the noisy, rancorous, frightening battlefield that had been her parents’ keeping. No, she owed him far more than that. If she were a better girl, she often thought when in her deepest desponds, she’d marry just to suit him, no matter the sorrow to herself. She’d been tempted to do so many a time and would have done long since if it were not for the outsize terror that arose in her at the very thought.
At the least, she sighed, twisting her coverlets in her tossing until her bed looked as though it had been furrowed and plowed for a spring planting, she ought to have seen it out until a decent time had elapsed before returning home, as she’d agreed. She oughtn’t, she knew, just like her countryman had cautioned, have given up the ship. And she was too honest to elude the damning suspicion that it was possible she’d known all that, but had gone ahead and ended it all anyway at the first opportunity and on the merest pretext, in the quickest, most selfish, convenient way possible.
Faith was so disappointed in herself that when she finally heard the faint tapping on her door above her stifled sobs, and thought for one moment that it might be all the assembled company come, bearing torches, to escort her to the town limits, she didn’t blame them in the least.
She finally managed to sit up and whisper “Come in.” When the tapping went on, she slid down from her high bed and crept to the door and cracked it a slit open. Lady Mary stood before her, shifting from foot to foot, her worried face seeming to float in a blurred nimbus of candlelight.
“Oh do let me in, Faith dear,” she whispered, her breath causing the candle to dance and throw violent shadows across her lovely face and the wall behind her. “I dread being discovered out here in the hall, but I have to see you.”
“I don’t know why you should want to,” Faith said on a sniffle. But she drew the door wide and Lady Mary came hurrying in, looking very like one of the ancestral spirits Faith was most anxious not to meet, with her long white dressing gown floating after her, almost catching in the door she closed quickly behind her.
“Oh dear,” Lady Mary said, as she placed the candlestick on a dressing table. “Does that mean you won’t forgive me either?”
Faith had wandered back to her bed, and was in the process of climbing up to sit on the side of it when her hostess’s words stopped her in mid-motion.
“Forgive you?” she asked, turning her head and staring at the blond girl. “What in heaven’s name is there to forgive you for? I’m the one who’s thoroughly disgraced herself. I ought never to have spoken as I did, and I tell you right now, Mary, I’m ashamed. But you needn’t worry, I’ll be ready to leave for home on the first fair tide ... and Will doesn’t have to come with me either.”
“Oh no,” the other girl wailed in distress before she clapped her hand over her mouth and whispered, “Indeed Faith, that’s why I came here tonight. Father said he’d have a word with you in the mo rn ing, and Mama is so angry at Lord Greyville that he’s been allowed to stay on with us only
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